He held on, stubborn that the thing would appear in the mailbox one
day. Til he started to get old and sick and realized ain't nothing
was coming in the mail lessin he sent it to himself. So he yanked out
a ream and chuffed the head off a dusty pencil, thwacked and shook the
bubbles out of his fountain pen obsessively like it was themometer or
hypodermic. this was it. shit time.
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